


Firsts And An Unclear Progression Of Time

by convolutedConcussion



Series: This Could Be Okay [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: List Fic, M/M, bucky pov, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of firsts in the new life of James Buchanan Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts And An Unclear Progression Of Time

The first time he wakes up in a bed, Steve tells him that he was screaming. Steve doesn't try to touch him past a hand on his shoulder, and he catalogs it with a brain filled with fire ants. He's given coffee, and the other man sits on the floor near the bed, soft around the edges like he'd been woken up by—oh. He thinks he apologizes but words are fuzzy and hard and he drinks the coffee without tasting it. (That's his first cup of coffee, too.)

The first time he eats, it's cold meat he can't identify on soft bread and it's the best thing he's ever had. He hiccups for an hour afterward and Steve laughs because, “I remember when we were kids—you'd do that all the time, and I--” but he stops and frowns and he doesn't push it, just accepts the glass of water set in front of him. (He vomits, later. He makes it to the kitchen sink. He's dimly aware of Steve holding his hair, whispering, “Okay, okay, okay...”)

The first time he has a nightmare, he puts a hole in the mattress, all the way through the box spring. He doesn't remember how he got there, but he ends up with his arms wrapped around Steve's middle, choking out plumes of poison and ash until he can breathe again. _(I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.)_

The first time Steve tells him about the past, he talks about a kid named Bucky who broke the nose of a kid twice his size for knocking Steve to the ground. A kid who never went on a date unless she had a friend. A kid who became his brother, who got the two of them into as much trouble as he could but always had Steve's back. “I remember,” he says, fondly and with eyes far away, “We were  _maybe_ thirteen, and this cop was really laying in to us, and he turns his back and I don't remember what I said but it was along the lines of his being a fat asshole, and he whips around and he's got this huge moonpie face and it goes all red and he yells,  _What_ , and before I can say anything you go, 'Mother forgive me,' stand up, and spit, 'I  _said...'”_ (He lets him talk and listens and wonders if he really was that kid, or that happy, or that brave. He watches Steve laugh and wonders.)

The first time he meets Tony Stark, it's in a top-security floor of Stark Tower, and the man is more interested in his arm, exclaiming softly, “Cool tech,” and bending close to inspect it. He lets him, intrigued by his intrigue. The attention feels uncomfortable, confusing, but not grating. Tony is careful, asks to roll up his sleeve, keeps asking, “You good?” as he moves the robotic arm this way and that. Stark has him have a seat, mumbling something about ineffective metacarpal reflex, followed by, “Dummy,” (he later learns it's Dum-E) “Over—over, over here, Christ, it's like you've never done this before.” He doesn't... doesn't know what happens, then. There's a noise, electronic but not like his arm, and the taste of rubber clings to his tongue, the back of his throat, he smells burning, burning—He's not sure what happens then, but Dr. Banner stitches a gash on his arm. (Seeing that he bleeds makes his stomach clench but he's not sure why.)

The first time he  _knows_ what he's remembering is real slams into him with enough force that it nearly knocks him over. He wakes up when the city is still dark most mornings. Most mornings he stays in, stays quiet, tries not to wake Steve. Some mornings he walks. Early enough for most people to still be in bed, he feels alone, like he doesn't have to be afraid that he'll hurt someone. They're out of milk that morning, which seems like as good a reason to leave the eerie near-silence—one that fills him with dread, disquiet, reminds him of lying in wait, and even then he can still feel the weight of lethal metal in his hands. He goes, scribbling something nigh illegible on the fridge. As he walks, he's alert rather more from unconscious habit than anything else. A soft noise from deep in the dark of an alley makes him stop. A quiet, feeble wailing. Inexorably drawn, he tilts his head, scans the shadows for the source. He remembers a woman smiling down at him, sympathetic and loving, musing aloud that she won't have room for the two of them if he kept bringing home strays. (Steve takes three minutes to notice the malnourished kitten sleeping in the crook of his metal arm. His throat goes tight when he gets a smile and a nod.)

The first time he goes to the VA with Steve, he feels... unworthy. He hangs back, lets the other lead the way, keeps his eyes fixed low. He understands, really he does, why Steve wants to try this—wants to fix him—but isn't confident.  _This is for him because I know him_ , he repeats to himself, using the mantra to shroud himself from the storm in his mind. (Sam introduces him to an adviser, a stout, hearty woman whose questioning makes him feel raw and gritty and tired. Back at the apartment, he curls around the stray kitten he'd named Coney.)

The first time he laughs, he's taking up half a too-plush couch, knee-to-knee with Steve. On their continuing mission to “educate” him and Steve, Stark insists on showing movies he deems to be necessary for their day-to-day existence. This time, it's  _The Princess Bride,_ which Steve has actually seen. For the first time, he feels almost at ease—his back is less stiff, shoulders relaxed, he does not want to run. It's not a bad movie, either. The first time he hears, “Mawwige,” something bubbles up in his chest and he stifles it in his fist. The next, he can't help the chuckle. By the third, he's hunched over his knees, guffawing, out of breath, and he can't stop, and he feels the eyes on everyone in the room on him. (He does eventually stop, stomach aching and throat raw and tears in his eyes. When they catch eyes, Steve leans over enough to nudge him a little, mouthing,  _Mawwige._ He can only shrug in response.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> You are all very nice to be reading and commenting and I really appreciate that!
> 
> I was going to save this until tomorrow but I was struck with inspiration?
> 
> I feel like I'm not going very in-depth with a lot of this and I've been limiting myself as far as word count/what constitutes a "scene" and blah blah. I'm not sure why I'm putting that in the notes, though.
> 
> As ever, your words are welcomed and appreciated and if you see any glaring issues because I am _very_ tired, please feel free to tell me.


End file.
